Up In Flames
by nessie6
Summary: St. John Allerdyce always had a fascination with fire. My story on Pyro's life before Magneto. On Hiatus. Don't read if you're offended by horrible, eye-gouging, stereotypical accents written by a then naive thirteen year old girl.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer- I do not own St. John Allerdyce, aka Pyro. I own nothing else that has to do with Marvel comics. I own anything you might not recognize.  
  
Summary- St. John Allerdyce has always had a fascination with fire. My story on Pyro's life before Magneto.  
  
Author's Note- If I get anything wrong for Australian stuff, forgive me, I'm not from Australia. The accent generally comes from The Phantom's "Dude, Where's My Accent?" If I get it wrong, I apologize. And I know I spelt Allerdyce wrong later, it's supposed to be that way. Enjoy!  
  
Prologue  
  
In a delivery room, a woman had just finished giving birth to her second child. She closed her eyes to rest as the nurses finished cleaning the mucus off of the babe. Her husband was mopping her sweaty brow with a damp washcloth.  
  
He gently shook her shoulder as one of the nurses came with a little blue bundle in her arms. The mother opened her brown eyes and looked at the bundle and smiled slightly. She wrapped her thing and pale arms around it and looked at its little face.  
  
"It's a boy then," she asked in a hoarse voice. The nurse just smiled.  
  
"He sure is 'andsome i'nt he?" the father asked. He had dark brown hair and pale green eyes.  
  
"He's goin' ta be beautiful," the baby's mother, Susan whispered. She was thing and frail looking with pale blond hair.  
  
"Wot should his name be, Susan?" the father, Steven, whispered.  
  
"He'll 'ave blond 'air an' blue oyes. Oy just knoah it, Steve, he'll be as beautiful as a saint. John. We should name 'im John," her brown eyes met his green ones. "St. John Allardyce."  
  
"Tha's perfect, Sue," he leaned forward and kissed her forehead.  
  
"Should we call Chris in? Moy sister will bring 'im in," Sue said softly, still staring at her tiny baby.  
  
Steven nodded. "Oy'll go call 'er now, love."  
  
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An hour later a little boy about the age of seven was sitting on his father's lap as he stared at the baby in his mother's arms. His dark brown hair was all over the place and he flickered his round brown eyes over to his mother than back at the baby. He gave it a weird look.  
  
"Wot is it?" he asked after awhile.  
  
"It's yoah baby brothah, Chris," his Aunt Nancy said as she petted the baby's head from the other side of the bed on his mother's left side.  
  
"Whoy's he all pink foah?" Chris wrinkled his nose.  
  
"Cause 'e's a baby," his mother said.  
  
"Are we gonna keep it?" he asked, looking from his mother to his father, then back to the baby.  
  
"Course we are! Whoy wouldn't we?" his father said incredulously.  
  
"Whoy would we wanna keep it foah?" he whined, not liking the little pink thing that was in his mother's arms.  
  
"Cause, silly, we loike him. We love him." His mother whispered as she looked at the baby again.  
  
"Oy still don' loike it." Christopher Allerdyce pouted as he gave one more wrinkled-nose look at his baby brother, St. John Allerdyce.  
  
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A/N- I hope you liked it so far! R&R! 


	2. What's a Caeserian?

Disclaimer- I do not own Pyro. I DO own his parents in this story and his siblings.  
  
Summary- St. John Allerdyce has always had a fascination with fire. My story on Pyro's childhood.  
  
Chapter One- What's A Caesarian?  
  
"When's Mum gonna be 'ome?" asked a five year old St. John. He was playing with little plastic army men soldiers.  
  
"When the baby's ready, Sinjin," replied his brother Chris who was reading a magazine by the window, and used his little brother's nickname that everybody used. It was just easier that way.  
  
"Whoy do they 'ave ta wait till it's ready?" 'Sinjin' was one to always ask questions and never shut up.  
  
"Whoy do ya awlways 'ave ta ask stupid questions?" Chris snapped back.  
  
"Whoy do ya awlways 'ave ta ask stoopid questions?" St. John copied in a high-pitched voice, giving an emphasis on the word 'stupid'. He then turned back to his army men.  
  
"Beware! Beware! 'Ere comes the Eeevil Woild Killah Dingo!" and he grabbed his stuffed animal that looked like a dingo and tossed it on top of the not- so-neatly lined army men. St. John watched in delight as they all toppled over.  
  
"No! No! Oy'll save you!" he then grabbed the little koala and made it have a vicious fight with the little dingo.  
  
Meanwhile, Chris was trying to read his magazine over the "Ahh!", "Oh, no! Oy'm doying! Oy'm doying!", and "Take that! And That! Hahahahaha!", but finally he couldn't concentrate on reading anymore so he just chucked the magazine at the little blonde boy and it whacked him in the head.  
  
"Oww," St. John whined, rubbing the back of his head. He turned his sparkling eyes blue to Chris. "Whoy'd ya do that foah?" Chris just glared at him.  
  
They stared at each other for a few minutes until John finally asked, "Wot's takin' them so long?"  
  
Chris sighed. He hated when John asked questions. "Because," he said, "They 'ad ta do a Caesarian on Mum. Tha's whoy she's been gone foah a coupla days."  
  
"Ohhh," John exclaimed and turned back to his toys, and then he turned back to Chris. "Wot's a Cesserien?*"  
  
Chris rolled his eyes. "It's wheah they cut open the mum ta pull out the baby, stupid."  
  
John's eyes widened. "They CUT 'er OPEN?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Are they comin' back today?" John asked.  
  
Chris sighed. "Yes, Sinjin, theah comin' 'ome today."  
  
But John must have a short attention span because he was walking over to his toy trunk while Chris was talking, leaving all the other toys he played with that day scattered on the carpet. He pulled out a fire truck.  
  
Bringing it over to where the little soldiers were lying down and scattered, he started running them over with the fire-truck making helicopter noises and making the soldiers plead and beg and scream.  
  
"Ah! 'E's runnin' ovah me! 'E's runnin' ovah me! 'Elp! 'Elp! A h h h h h!"  
  
Chris was tempted to throw something else at St. John but stopped when the door suddenly opened.  
  
Their mother, who was always thin and frail looking walked in holding a bundle in her arms. Her pale brown hair was in a limp ponytail, and she was wearing black leggings and a loose gray T-shirt. Their father walked in behind her, with his beer-gut and dark whiskers, came in carrying the old brown suitcase.  
  
The baby that was wrapped in yellow blankets suddenly gave a loud wail. Chris scrunched up his face and John covered his ears hollering, "Shut the thing up! Make it stop!"  
  
Sue Allerdyce walked across the room and put the baby in the basinet that was set up across the room a few weeks ago. She then pulled out a cigarette and lighter out of her old purse and lit one up. She walked in the kitchen and they heard the refrigerator door open and close.  
  
Steve Allerdyce just tossed the suitcase to the side and went to the baby to quiet her down. Sue walked back in with a glass of water and a cloud of smoke trailed behind her as she puffed the cigarette.  
  
John was still covering his ears and was still screaming, "Shut it up! Shut it up! Make it stop! Whoy's it so loud!"  
  
And he was still screaming that about thirty seconds later until Sue snapped, "Sinjin! Stop yoah cryin'! Oy just got home! Oy don' need any o' this cryin'!"  
  
But John was still yelling. He did not like things that made loud annoying noises, unless it was him who made it, and he did not like that thing that was crying in his father's arms.  
  
"ST. JOHN!" his mother finally screamed, her voice hoarse. John faltered on his yelling and looked at his mother, whose face was full of anger. He shut up.  
  
His mother then turned around and put her finished cigarette out on the ashtray on the table. She lit another one up.  
  
"Give me moy baby," she said holding out her thin and pale arms. Steve handed her the whimpering baby.  
  
" 'Ere's moy lit'l girl," she cooed to the baby. She raised her head up to look at her two sons. " 'Ere's yoah baby sistah. Her name is Irene."  
  
Chris got up from the armchair by the window and slowly stepped over John's toys to look at her. John followed.  
  
"Is that the baby?" John asked, standing on his tip-toes to get a better look. His mother nodded her head. She then walked back to place the baby in the basinet.  
  
She then turned around and looked at the place. She saw toys littered all over the place, food wrappers, empty cups, and dishes with food still in them. Her face started to turn pink.  
  
"Whoy is theah toys all ovah the floah? Sinjin you bettah pick those up or yoah goin' ta get a big spankin'. Chris? Yoah twelve years old, Oy thought that you'd be decent enough ta clean up aftah yoahself. Oy'm goin' ta take a nap, an' when Oy come down, ya better 'ave this junk cleaned up." She started to walk in the direction of the staircase. She stopped in the middle of the steps and called over her shoulder, "An' Oy mean it."  
  
Steve just shook his head, went to the kitchen, grabbed a beer, came back in and went out the front door to light a cigarette.  
  
Chris went to clean up all the dishes and wrappers as John quietly cleaned his toys up. As Chris walked back in from the kitchen to get more dishes, John whispered, "Mum doesn't look loike she woz cut open."  
  
Chris looked at John for a moment and then shook his head, carrying the rest of the dishes to the kitchen sink.  
  
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A/N- How'd you like this chapter? Is the story good so far? R&R Constructive criticism welcomed! And please read and review my other stories! They're not bad, check 'em out!  
  
*pronounced cess-er-ee-an. John's little, he won't pronounce it write.  
  
Thanks to those of you who reviewed-  
  
InsaneBunneh- Butthole munch? Is that the BEST you can come up with? Ha! Well thanks for reviewing! And remember, review other stories! EVERY chapter! Yeah, I'm a review hog.  
  
everyone_was_doin_it- Thanks for reviewing! It means a lot to me! I'm glad I seem to be part of the very few who would do a Pyro childhood fic. I've read one before so I know I'm not the only one.  
  
Raven10- Thanks for your review! Means a lot!  
  
Dark Jaded Rose- Thanks for your review! Means a lot to me! 


	3. John's Army

Disclaimer- I do not own Pyro, Marvel does.  
  
Summary- St. John Allerdyce always had a fascination with fire. My story on Pyro's life before Magneto.  
  
Chapter Two- John's Army  
  
"Awlroight mites," John stood in front of his army. It consisted of koala, dingo, wombat, monkey, kangaroo stuffed animals, three surviving army men, Irene's doll, the teakettle, a chipped coffee mug, and a drooling Irene.  
  
John himself was wearing a pot on his head and beside him were too frying pans and a large wooden spoon.  
  
"Today's the day," he said looking at each and every single one of them in the eye. "Today's the day we do it."  
  
He stared at Irene, who usually always wailed, but this was the one time that she wasn't, and she was happily making spit-bubbles. Eleven months old and she finally stopped crying. Good riddance.  
  
John looked at his other soldiers. "Mites, today's the day we . . ." he paused dramatically, "Get the cookies from the cookie jahr." And he made a face that looked so determined and so serious that if you were there you couldn't help but laugh.  
  
He snapped his attention back to his lined up army. He started giving them orders, "Coffee mug, yoah lookout. Koala, you bettah be too," he looked at the koala and then turned to the teakettle, "And maybe you bettah be too. And you." He looked at the wombat.  
  
"Dingo, yoah gonna 'elp me get the cookie jahr. Kangaroo yoah gonna be the first backup. Army men, yoah second backup. Monkey, yoah third. It moight get dangerous ovah theah. We need as much backup as possible. Dingo's a tough guy, but even the toughest could go down. Dolly," he turned to Irene's doll, "Yoah gonna be a distraction. Irene, you too."  
  
"Awlroight?" he looked at them all and nodded. "Awlroight. Good luck, mites."  
  
He lined all the lookouts around the entrances and placed Dolly and Irene in the middle of the living room and started poking Irene hard so she would cry. She started to whimper and then she let out an ear-splitting wail.  
  
"Good job," John whispered and then took off with Dingo to the kitchen, where the mighty cookie jar was.  
  
They tiptoed into the kitchen (at least John did, Dingo was tucked under his arm). John placed Dingo on the counter and then went to the table and dragged one of the chairs over where it was screeching and scraping across the floor to the counter. He then climbed it and then tried to climb onto the counter from there but was unsuccessful. He tried again.  
  
Almost falling off he used all his strength to pull himself up. Success! All he had to do now was somehow reach the jar that was placed on top of the refrigerator next to the cabinets. He then moved away from the edge and the pot on top of his head hit the cabinet above. Rats! Removing the pot and gently placing it beside Dingo he went on his tiptoes and . . .  
  
Hit his head on the cabinet.  
  
Clutching the top of his blonde head, he whispered to Dingo, "Oy knew that pot was good fer sumtin'"  
  
Dingo only stared silently back.  
  
John placed the pot back on his head to avoid further injuries and then quickly stood up on the counter again.  
  
THWACK!  
  
He hit his head on the cabinet. Again.  
  
John thought for a moment as he regained his balance by hanging onto the handle of the cabinet that this was not going as well as he planned.  
  
He then walked a little closer to the edge and away from the cabinet and reached for the cookie jar. Somehow, he had miscalculated the height to the top of the refrigerator from the countertop. He could not reach the cookie jar. John growled in frustration.  
  
Thinking that maybe he would get a better reach if he was just a little closer to the edge and right up against the refrigerator . . .  
  
"Oof!"  
  
He fell right off the counter and landed right on his bum. To say that it didn't hurt would be a lie.  
  
"Sinjin, wot the hell is goin' on in 'ere?" His mother came into the kitchen with a red-faced tear-streaked Irene.  
  
John looked back at his mother and said simply, "Oy fell."  
  
His mother raised an eyebrow, "You fell."  
  
John nodded and repeated, "Oy fell."  
  
"And how did you fall?" she asked, bouncing a calming Irene.  
  
"Oy fell off of the chair." He said.  
  
"John, if you loy to me one moah time, Oy'm not takin' you to the bonfoires tomorrow night." She said sternly.  
  
"But Oy've nevah been theah befoah!" John whined, crawling over to his mother's feet, getting on his knees, clasping his hands before him, and preparing to beg.  
  
"Well, maybe next year you'll be able ta," she said and walked away.  
  
"Mum! No, no! Mum! Oy'll be good! Oy sweah! Oy'll be so good you couldn't leave me behind! M u u u u u u u m m m m m m m!" he tried to get up and follow her but his butt hurt too much to walk.  
  
His mother ignored him.  
  
"You just said that if Oy tell *anothah* loy Oy won' go. But Oy didn't say anymoah loys! Mum, M u u u u u m m m m m! Please? Plleeaaassseee?" he grabbed hold of her ankles and was being dragged after her.  
  
"Mum, mum, mum, mummummummummummummum," he repeated over and over again until she snapped at him.  
  
"Will ya shut up!" she turned around and shook him off her foot. "Go get me moy cigarettes, John.  
  
John, who decided to be a perfect angel and do whatever he was told to, hopped up and ran to her bedroom to grab the cigarettes on the dresser. He had to go on his tip-toes to see all the way across it and he grabbed the carton, her lighter, and headed out the door.  
  
But then he stopped just when he was about to go out of the door and turned slowly around. He looked at his dad who was passed out on the bed, and then he walked quietly back to the dresser. There were six different colored lighters on the dresser and he thought that his dad didn't need them all. He quickly reached and grabbed his favorite color one-red.  
  
He stuffed it in his pocket and went back downstairs and gave his mother her cigarettes and lighter.  
  
"'Ere ya go, Mum," he said with his biggest smile and he gave her them. She gratefully took them and handed Irene over to him as she lit the long white stick that was dangling from her lips.  
  
"Yoah a good boy, Sinjin," she said after she took a long drag, "Maybe Oy'll let ya go aftah all."  
  
John grinned and ran to collect his 'army'.  
  
After he set them all on his bed, Irene included, he decided to give them a good talking.  
  
"Awlroight mites," he said, "Now, we got to get to some serious talkin'. First off, Dingo, while Oy'm gone and lookin' at the big things o' foires, yoah in charge. In fact, Oy'm pre. . .premoting you ta second in command when Oy come back."  
  
"It's been good workin' with you all," he looked at them all. "Now, Oy'm gonna go outside and play with moy new lighta. But first," he looked at Irene, "Oy'm gonna put ya in yoah crib so you won't bothah anyone."  
  
He then went back to his parents' room and set her in the cradle and then he skipped out to go play with his new toy that will be his pride and joy for quite awhile.  
  
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A/N- How'd you like this chapter? I'm so happy I'm getting good feedback on this!  
  
The Rogue Witch- Really? You live in New Zealand? Do you know how badly I want to go there? It's suppose to be beautiful, and well, LotR was filmed there. I write the accents like this cause it's more entertaining for me ;- ) Thanks for your review!  
  
Also thanks for reviewing: InsaneBunneh, I Am The Anonymous Reviewer, Dont- eat-chunky-pudding, Ashley, Kage-robot-of-darkness, Storm-Pietro, Bleedingmoon89, and Dark Jaded Rose. 


	4. Bonfire

Disclaimer- I don't own anything that looks familiar. Especially not Pyro. . .But. . .no I don't own him.  
  
Summary- St. John Allerdyce always had a fascination with fire. My story on Pyro's life before Magneto.  
  
Author's Note- I might put in less 'yoah''s in because it's starting to sound southern to me. . .  
  
Chapter Three- Bonfire  
  
John watched in amazement as the flames danced before him. The eerie orange glow illuminated his young pale face, and a reflection of the fire shown in his blue eyes. His blonde hair shone like fire from the flames. His jaw was dropped and his eyes were wide with awe. He wanted to touch the fire, not thinking of the consequences of his actions.  
  
Every year, before the beginning of the month September, there was a huge bonfire. Whoever wanted to come came. Usually it was three quarters of the little town. The Allerdyce's had moved there when John was just three, to be closer to his mother's family and to find a cheaper home. John had never been allowed to go and see the fire, his mother said that he was too young, but now, at six, John was old enough.  
  
He reached out his small hand, as if to stroke the fire but found that it was angrily and rudely (he decided) slapped away. He looked up and glared at his mother, who was looking very annoyed with him. That was the seventh time that night he tried to do that.  
  
"Whoy can't Oy touch the foire foah?" he whined and then turned back to the dancing flames in front of him and attempted to touch them again when his hand was slapped away for the eighth time that night.  
  
"Stop that, Sinjin," his mother snapped. "Do ya *want* ta burn yoahself?"  
  
John scowled and looked back at the flames. He didn't plan on burning himself, so why couldn't he touch the darn fire?  
  
John continued to scowl at the fire that, earlier had amazed him, but now it didn't seem quite as exciting now if he couldn't touch it. He vaguely heard his mother ask him something but he didn't understand what she said and he didn't want to answer.  
  
She shook his shoulder a bit. "You want something to eat, John?"  
  
He glared at her and shook his head. She sighed and called Chris over.  
  
"Make sure your brothah doesn't do anything stupid," she said and walked off to get something to eat.  
  
Chris stared at John, daring him to do anything unacceptable. John just stared determinably back.  
  
Finally, Chris sighed and rolled his eyes, walking off away from John to get a bottle of pop.  
  
John grinned. Now was the chance to do it. Quickly walking closer to the fire, he reached out and brought his hand closer. . .  
  
He wasn't even touching it and his hand was becoming hot. But if he just reached out a little more, he'd show his mother he wouldn't get burned.  
  
His fingertips touched the flames and he gave a surprised yelp and jerked his hand back, cradling it to his chest and blowing frantically on his burnt fingertips.  
  
"John, wot did you do?" he heard the irritated voice of his brother and a second later Chris was in front of him, bending over and examining his hand. Chris just rolled his eyes and grabbing John by the wrist, and dragged him over to where the drinks were.  
  
They stopped at an old blue cooler and Chris opened it, took out a handful of ice and handed it to John and he said almost soothingly, "'Ere, John, you hold this and Oy'll go get Mum."  
  
Chris was only gone for about two minutes and then he came back into John's view with his mother looking angry and worried at the same time, running behind him.  
  
"Sinjin, Oy told you you would burn yoahself if you did that," she said and looked at his bright red fingertips. They were starting to blister.  
  
John's eyes welled up with tears both from the pain that his poor fingers were in and that he was in trouble.  
  
"Oy thought Oy wouldn't burn moyself," John choked out. His fingers were really starting to burn, and what was worse, itch. He started to scratch them, but this only made it hurt worse. The tears leaked out of his eyes and rolled down his cheeks.  
  
His mother snatched his other hand and pulled him into a hug. She whispered in his ear, "Now you know not ta touch the foire, Sinjin. Did you learn yoah lesson?" He nodded.  
  
"Now c'mere," she said and grabbed his good hand and led him inside one of the houses to grab a washcloth. She then opened the freezer and pulled out another handful of ice and she wrapped it in the cloth and told John to put his fingers in there.  
  
"But Oy have ice already," he said and showed her the handful of melting ice that was in his had, the water from it dripping on the floor and down his wrist. She grabbed the melting ice and tossed it in the sink behind her as John put his fingers on the ice in the cloth as she turned back towards him and wrapped the cloth around his hand.  
  
"Now you stay with me, Sinjin," she said and they walked out of the house together.  
  
A half an hour later, John's ice was starting to melt again and he was starting to get bored. His mother was talking to all the people that had come and he was starting to get sick of looking up and straining his neck to greet the people he was introduced to. He knew half of the people already, almost everybody knew everyone here, it was a small town. It was more like a village in fact.  
  
"Sinjin whoy don't you go play with Naomi Harrison and Mick's lit'l brothah Ian?" his mother asked him and pointed to the two little people his age standing next to the adults his mother was talking to.  
  
The girl with platinum blonde curls that were tied in pigtails with ribbons wrinkled her nose. "Oy don' play with *boys*."  
  
Ian gave him a goofy smile. Unlike John and Chris, he looked exactly like his brother Mick, who was Chris's friend. "G'day," he said.  
  
John gave a toothy smile back. It was really quite adorable. "G'day," he said back. He then looked at Naomi and then he looked back at Ian. He held up his ice-wrapped fingers. "Oy burnt moy fingahs," he said.  
  
"Whoa," Ian said in awe and then stepped closer to get a better look. Naomi looked interested for a second and then quickly replaced it with a disgusted look.  
  
"Yoah stupid if you burnt yoah own fingahs," she said very snootily.  
  
But Ian was still examining them. "Theah awl blistahed!" he exclaimed.  
  
John nodded grimly. He decided he like this Ian. He always liked Mick, anyways, and he wasn't as mean to him as Chris sometimes was.  
  
"Oy loike you," John said to Ian. Ian smiled back at him.  
  
"Wanna go and eat some marshmallows er sumtin'?" Ian asked and John nodded excitedly and they both took off towards the tables where the food was, leaving Naomi Harrison behind.  
  
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A/N- So what do you think? It's a short chapter, but I needed to introduce Ian and Naomi, since they'll be important later on. If you're liking the fluffy cuteness, well sorry but in a couple of chapters it ain't going to be all warm and gooey.  
  
Anon- Actually, John IS a blond-haired blue-eye guy. If you seen Ascension II at the end where they show the BH working for S.H.I.E.L.D, John's there, and he's got a full head of blonde hair. He was also blonde in the comics. I think why they put orange there is because of what the fire makes his hair look like, and really, there's only a few times they don't show Pyro without his flames. So it's understandable if people think he's a redhead, I did at first. Thanks for your review!  
  
And also thanks for reviewing- InsaneBunneh, pyros-gal, Dark Jaded Rose, kage-robot-of-darkness, Dreams of Magic, and The Rogue Witch. Keep readin' and reviewin'!  
  
A/N II- Ack, sorry if the accent is offensive to anyone!  
  
R&R! 


	5. Accident

Pyro burnt my disclaimer down, but it sounded like he said between the insane cackling, "Nessie6 doesn't own anything that has to do with X-Men Evolution"  
  
Summary- St. John Allerdyce always had a fascination with fire. My story on Pyro's life before Magneto.  
  
Author's Note- It may seem I'm just jumping in the years and things awfully quick, but John being age eight and under isn't as important. Again, I apologize for the accents.  
  
Chapter Four- Accident  
  
Ian Larson and John Allerdyce had been best friends for a year now. They would always walk to each other's houses play fun games and just do a bunch of fun stuff. Right now, they were sitting on the floor with a bunch of chocolate in front of them, taunting poor two-year old Irene.  
  
"No, no" John teased, waving a piece of chocolate brownie in front of her face, and when her chubby little hands when to reach for it, he'd snatch it back and take a bite out of it. "Yoah not old enough ta eat MOY chocolate." And he stuffed the rest of his brownie into his mouth and chewing it with his mouth open. Clearly this seven year old didn't have any manners.  
  
Irene burst out in tears.  
  
John moaned in exasperation. "Don' ya evah stop croyin'?"  
  
Ian shook his head. "Nope, she doesn't."  
  
Sue then came into the living room to see what Irene was crying about this time. "Wot did ya do *now*?" she said in annoyance.  
  
John spoke in his defense, "OY didn' do anything! Me and Ian 'ere woz just mindin' our own business, when Irene 'ere troid ta steal our chocolate!"  
  
"Oy doubt that, John," she said and bent down to scoop Irene in her arms. Irene wrapped her arms around her neck in a death grip and cried her little heart out on her mother's shoulder.  
  
"It's the truth!" He protested, "It's the truth! She can' have moy chocolate! It's mine! Isn't she too young? Whoy do ya awlways blame ME?"  
  
Sue rubbed her rubbed her forehead with one hand wearily as she listened to John.  
  
"Oy'm not loyin'! Oy'm not loyin'! Whoy do ya awlways blame me?" John wailed over and over again until Sue nearly cried.  
  
"Would ya stop, *please* John?" she said tiredly, setting a protesting Irene back on the floor.  
  
"But Oy told you! Oy'm not loyin'! Oy'm tellin' the truth!" John said even though his mother didn't say otherwise.  
  
"John, just shut up an' go an' get me moy cigarettes," she said and when she looked up and saw his hurt face she added softly, "Oy nevah said you were loyin'."  
  
Silently John went to the kitchen where the cigarettes were, Ian following behind him. On the counter was a carton of his mother's brand of cigarettes. He reached up and grabbed it and then opened it and peered inside. There was only one left.  
  
He lifted his head up to share a look with Ian. Ian just shrugged and turned around so they could go back to the living room. John followed.  
  
He went up to his mother, who was now sitting on the couch, and she took them gratefully. Irene was attempting to climb up the couch herself but she was too short. Sue reached down and grabbed her arm and pulled her up so she could sit next to her.  
  
She opened the pack and stared at it for awhile as Irene bounced around humming happily.  
  
Sue looked up. Here eyes wandered the room for a minute before she hollered, "STEVE! STEVEN!" and she jumped to her feet as he came in looking very annoyed.  
  
"Woman, if you wont tha' car fixed by today yoah gonna stop interruptin' me!" He snapped at her, all full of grease.  
  
"Did you have all moy cigarettes?" She snarled at him.  
  
"Oy had four of them, Oy ran out of moine!" He seethed back at her.  
  
"Oy had awlmost a whole pack! Where the hell do you think the rest of them went?"  
  
"Are you cawllin' me a liar?"  
  
"Yes, Oy am."  
  
"Well, Oy didn't take no more than four of yoah fuckin' cigarettes."  
  
"Don't you tawlk ta me that way!"  
  
"Oy can tawlk to you however Oy want."  
  
John grabbed Irene hastily and ran out of the room with Ian behind them, both of them sensing a big fight coming.  
  
"They foight ovah the stupidest things," he muttered to Ian.  
  
Ian shook his head, "Don' fret, mate. Moy parents foight awl the time. An' then they foight awl the time with moy brothers and sister. Itsa nuthouse ovah theah."  
  
"Let's go outside," John suggested. He really wanted to get away from the yelling.  
  
They walked outside, and John placed Irene in a little fenced in play area they had so she wouldn't go wandering off. She happily played in her little sandbox.  
  
"Ya wanna play 'Bloind Tag'?" asked Ian.  
  
"Sure!" John said excitedly and hopped over the little fence to fetch the two bandanas that were close to where Irene was.  
  
Then they played rock, paper, scissors to see who was it, and to John's dismay, he was the one who was to be it. They tied the bandanas over their eyes.  
  
Ian and John invented a lot of games, but the one game they thought was pure genius was 'Blind Tag', where they both run around trying to tag each other while wearing blindfolds. It was really quite dangerous.  
  
John tripped a number of ten times, and bumped into things eleven times, while Ian tripped nine times but bumped into things twelve times. They vaguely heard their older brothers crossing the street but they paid no heed to them. They just laughed and laughed, chasing after each other until they heard a car zooming close by. It screeched to a halt and they distinctly heard a thud.  
  
"Sonovabitch!" They heard Mick, Ian's older brother, exclaim vehemently.  
  
They ripped their blindfolds off to see what all the commotion was about. Chris was lying in the middle of the street, blood spilling around him from his leg; his face was screwed up in pain. The car that hit him backed up and then sped off.  
  
Mick shouted over to them, "GO GET HELP, JOHN!"  
  
John then sprinted back into the house with all his might. Panting he stopped in the doorway of the living room where his parents were still arguing.  
  
"Chris got hit boy a car!" he yelled and then sprinted back outside to where Mick and Ian were standing around Chris.  
  
His mother then burst out of the house and shoved John and Mick aside to get a better look at Chris.  
  
"Chris, Chris are you okay?" she asked frantically, shaking Chris's shoulder.  
  
Chris moaned in pain.  
  
Beatty Franz, the middle aged woman that lived across the street shouted, "What happened? Is he okay? Should I call an ambulance?"  
  
Sue just waved her hand at the neighbor without looking up.  
  
"John, Ian, go watch Irene. Now," she said sharply and the two seven year olds scrambled up and hopped over the little fence to the sandbox where Irene was still playing.  
  
John watched as his dad rushed out of the house and to Chris five minutes later. And ten minutes after that they heard the sirens of the ambulance. Neighbors were starting to come out and take a look, asking if they were okay.  
  
They watched as the paramedics carefully lifted Chris up onto a stretcher, and as his mother climbed in after Chris and they watched as the ambulance drove away and to the hospital.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Sorry this took so long! I'm suffering a little bit of writer's block for this story and the chapter isn't nearly as long as I wanted it but this will have to do. Well, R&R and cookies to all who guesses what happened to the rest of the cigarettes! Think! 


	6. Fight

Disclaimer- You know the drill. Don't own anything you recognize.  
  
Summary- St. John Allerdyce always had a fascination with fire. My story on Pyro's life before Magneto.  
  
Chapter Five- Fight  
  
Chris came home two days later after he had surgery on his left leg. The whole leg was covered in a white cast and he had crutches and a wheelchair. He also cracked two ribs and had a few large bruises. Nothing too serious.  
  
John wished the bugger just stayed in the hospital. He was hogging all the attention.  
  
"John go get me a glass of orange juice," Chris called from the living room where he was watching television. John groaned. Why couldn't Chris get it? He was the one who was closer to the kitchen, anyways.  
  
John stomped down the stairs, careful to stomp VERY loudly and practically banged on everything on the way to the kitchen. He was NOT somebody's slave!  
  
He yanked the refrigerator door open and took out the jug of orange juice and set it on the floor. He then took a dirty glass out of the sink and set it next to the jug on the floor. He unscrewed the cap of the jug and poured it into the glass, most of the juice missing it completely.  
  
John scowled. He was NOT having a good day. Then he picked up the glass and yet again stomped and banged on everything that was in his path (or not) on the way to the living room where Chris was lounging.  
  
Chris gave him a weird look and reached out for the glass. John shoved it into his hand, causing it to slop all over the place. Chris gave him an annoyed glare. "Wot the hell was that foah?"  
  
John just glared back and stomped to the kitchen, yet again pounding on everything he could find. He was very lucky his parents were at work and that they let him stay home from school to help Chris around the house. Like he even WANTED to do that.  
  
He then slammed the refrigerator door shut, hearing some jars and bottles clink together loudly from inside. He was pretty sure he broke something, but he really didn't care. He was mad.  
  
He took a towel and did a 'half-assed' job in cleaning the orange juice up. It was still wet and sticky. He threw the jug away.  
  
"John!"  
  
John's head snapped to the direction of the way into the living room. He scowl became more pronounced. He started muttering dark things no seven year old should mutter under his breath.  
  
"Wot do ya want NOW?" he snapped at Chris.  
  
"Help me ta moy room. Ya just gotta help me balance, that's awl," He said and pushed himself up on his feet, standing awkwardly because of his cast.  
  
Chris held out his arm and indicated that John needed to go over there. John did so, and Chris wrapped his arm around his brother's shoulders. John wrapped his arm around Chris's waist.  
  
They stumbled through the room and it took quite a while to climb up the stairs. They then entered Chris's room. John was about to leave before Chris said, "Just one moah thing, John."  
  
John turned around and looked at him expectantly. Chris was collapsed on the bed, sweating slightly.  
  
"Wot?"  
  
Chris raised his head to look at him. "Just go to Mum and Dad's room. Get me seven cigarettes. Please?"  
  
John stared at Chris. "Yoah the one who stole Mum's cigarettes the othah day?"  
  
"Just get 'em, John."  
  
"Mum's gonna notice."  
  
"Oy don' care."  
  
John silently walked out of the room and to his parent's room across the hall. He opened the door quietly and stepped inside. He walked up to his mother's dresser and opened the top drawer. He took one pack of the five. He opened the top and took out seven of them and stuffed them under a pair of underwear.  
  
He stepped back into Chris's room and gave them to him.  
  
"Just open the window and give me moy loightah ovah theah," Chris said as if he were out of breath, sticking one of the cigarettes in his mouth.  
  
John grabbed the lighter from the desk and opened the window. He walked back over to Chris and gave him his lighter.  
  
"Can Oy have one?" he asked. Chris looked at him in surprise.  
  
"No, ya can' have one," he snapped.  
  
"Whoy not? Yoah smokin' them."  
  
"Oy wouldn't be a good oldah brothah if Oy let moy seven year old brothah smoke," Chris said, taking a long drag of the cigarette.  
  
John stared at the lighted end. "Is it fun?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Then whoy do ya do it?"  
  
"Just leave me alone, John."  
  
John turned around sharply and walked over to the door. Just as he was about to close it Chris said, "John?"  
  
"Wot NOW?"  
  
"Promise me you won' evah smoke?"  
  
John paused for a minute, surprised by the question. "Oy promise."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
They sat around the kitchen table, eating in an awkward silence. Irene was even silent, sensing the tenseness around her.  
  
"One of moy cigarettes were opened today," Sue said stiffly. Chris kept his head down.  
  
"Are you accusin' me again?" Steve snapped angrily.  
  
"I dunno," she said.  
  
"Well Oy didn't take them. Oy have moy own," he growled, taking a sip of his beer. It was usual that Steve and Sue drank beer at dinner.  
  
"Well, somebody took 'em!"  
  
"Well it wasn't me!"  
  
"Oy took them." A quiet voice said. Nobody heard it but John, who was sitting next to the person that said it. John looked at his food, suddenly not feeling hungry anymore.  
  
"OY SAID OY DIDN'T TAKE THEM!"  
  
"OY BET YOAH LOYIN' YA AWLWAYS DO!"  
  
"Oy took them!" Chris said louder. His parents stopped yelling at each other abruptly and looked at Chris in surprise.  
  
"Chris?" His mother said faintly.  
  
Chris stood up, leaning on the table for support. "Oy took them. Just stop blamin' Dad."  
  
"You took them?"  
  
"Oy just SAID that!" Chris snarled irritably.  
  
"Don't get smart!" Steve warned.  
  
"Oy'm not! Oy jus' said Oy took the cigs! OY was smokin' them! Oy've been smokin' since last year! Just stop foightin' with each othah!"  
  
"How dare you? Yoah only fourteen! Wot tha hell are ya smokin' foah?" His mother yelled at him.  
  
"You an' dad smoked at moy age! Wot's the difference now?" Chris shouted back. John closed could not help but watch. Irene was silent and was staring at them with wide, light blue eyes.  
  
"Yoah not smokin' anymoah! Yoah not goin' anywheah foah a year!" Steve yelled at his son.  
  
"Fuck you!" Chris shouted back.  
  
His father's eyes widened in shock and then his face flushed in anger. He swung his fist at Chris, and Chris toppled over from the strike.  
  
"Bastard! Bastard!" Chris shouted, holding his aching face.  
  
"How dare you!" Steve shouted. "How DARE you say that ta us!"  
  
"Stop!" John shouted from his spot. It terrified him to see Chris lying there on the ground like that.  
  
"Fuck you! You nevah were parents! You awlways smoke and drink, tha's awl you do!" Chris shouted, his eyes brimmed with angry tears.  
  
Sue stepped forward. "Don' you dare! Or OY'LL hit you! Yoah not the son Oy raised!"  
  
"Stop! Just stop foightin'!" John cried from his spot, covering his ears with his hands. It had never gotten this bad before.  
  
Chris pulled himself to his feet with difficulty. "Oy'm goin' ta bed."  
  
They watched as he struggled through the kitchen and heard him climb up the stairs. It was really slow and he was having a lot of difficulty.  
  
John ran from the room, not wanting to take anymore.  
  
Chris never was the same after that.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Yay! A faster update! Chapter's still a bit short though, sorry. Congrats to Dont-eat-chunky-pudding and The Rogue Witch for guessing who took the cigs right. Here's your cookies! *tosses you random kinds of cookies* Enjoy!  
  
Thanks to all who reviewed!  
  
Like it? Hate it? Either way, review! 


	7. Smite Me, Almighty Smiter!

Pyro burnt down my disclaimer, saying I own nothing and am absolutely broke.  
  
Summary- St. John Allerdyce always had a fascination with fire. My story on Pyro's life before Magneto.  
  
Chapter Six- Smite Me, Almighty Smiter!  
  
Chris's leg healed like it should. He walked with a very small limp that was barely noticeable. Feeling very generous for some reason or another, Chris decided to teach his young brother something. Smiting ants. Not a very nice thing to do. It was slightly evil, in fact. But that wasn't the point. The point was that John loved it.  
  
John laughed in delight as he watched the ants twitch under the glare of the magnifying glass. He had been doing this for hours and the neighbors who had seen him when he first started wondered why on Earth he wasn't bored. He was seven and a half years old and already he found joy in killing things. What was wrong with this boy?  
  
John would have liked to smite the little creatures with one of the lighters he'd stolen, but ended up burning his fingers over and over again with the tiny flame. For right now, he would use the magnifying glass.  
  
He laughed again, his blue eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint. Oh, this was the life! After successfully burning his one-hundredth and thirtieth (yes, he was keeping count) ant, he targeted another one, this one slightly bigger.  
  
"Aren't you a big blightah?" he cackled. The ant tried to run crawl away on its six littler legs but John Allerdyce was too fast. He angled the glass so as to make a bigger glare.  
  
"You ain't goin' anywheah," he said reproachfully to the small specimen. The ant let off a tiny, tiny, teeny tiny bit of smoke. It started to twitch.  
  
"Have mercy! Have mercy, Almighty Smoightah!" John tried to mimic them using a very squeaky and high-pitched voice. Successfully, the ant he had been concentrating on burned to death. He searched for his next victim.  
  
He grinned. "Smoight me! Smoight me, Almoighty Smoightah!"  
  
A spider crawled in his line of vision. John shuddered for a moment, hating the way the creepy-crawly things moved. Then, slowly a grin spread onto his face.  
  
"Well, aren't you just a lucky lit'l buggah?" he asked it in a sweet tone. Almost too sweet.  
  
The spider paused for a moment, as if it could actually understand John. John giggled silently then moved the glare onto the spider.  
  
"Do ya burn fastah than ants?" he asked it innocently, cocking his head to the side, giving it an almost puzzling look.  
  
The spider tried to scamper out of the way. Right to John. It was a rather big and hairy spider (in John's opinion, of course).  
  
John scooted back a little bit, breaking his stare from the spider briefly to glance behind him. He looked back.  
  
Where did that spider go?  
  
John looked everywhere for it. He did not notice a creepy-crawly creature crawling on his shoe.  
  
And so it happened that John glanced at his shoe and saw the sneaky little creature. John eyes widened, and he let out a very short lasting scream and he stood up abruptly, dropped the magnifying glass, and shook his foot violently. The spider flew off and John ran back to the house, leaving the broken shards of his (well, actually his father's) trusty magnifying glass.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
"John?" came his mother's voice from downstairs. John looked up from his legos and listened.  
  
"John?"  
  
He hopped up and skipped out of the room towards the kitchen, where his mother was.  
  
"What?" he asked in an innocent voice when he found her.  
  
His mother turned around and faced him; her face angry and her fists were planted to her thing hips, her sallow skin on her face and neck reddening slightly.  
  
"Did you break the magnifoying glass?" she asked in a firm voice.  
  
John shook his head violently. Maybe Irene could take the blame?  
  
"John, theah was dead ant awl around the broken pieces," she said, "You were burning ants again. And how do ya burn ants?"  
  
John shrugged one of his shoulders, his mouth pulled to the side and his eyebrows raised slightly, making an "I-don't-know-what-you-are-talking- about face."  
  
"John," she growled, "you broke this. You weren't suppose to touch this!"  
  
"Oy didn't do it!" John defended himself. Maybe he would make a good lawyer one day. . .  
  
Susan buried her face in her left hand and slapped her palm against the kitchen table. She let out a frustrated cry.  
  
"Just don't do it anymoah," she said very quietly.  
  
John nodded, even though she didn't see it.  
  
"Bloody hell," her heard her murmur. He took a step back. Susan inhaled sharply through her nose and craned her neck up to look at the ceiling. Then it drooped back down, looking at the floor. She let out another sigh and took the two steps to get to her purse and she started digging in it, pulling out a lime-green lighter and a carton of cigarettes.  
  
"The thing Oy have to go through," she muttered while lighting up the cigarette in her mouth. She puffed on it, and a cloud of smoke came billowing out and she inhaled sharply, a look of bliss passing over her face.  
  
"Don't evah smoke, Sinjin," she said to him very quietly, as if she was actually talking to herself. John nodded but she took no notice of him.  
  
She took another long drag, and exhaled through her nose, smoke flowing out of it.  
  
John took another step back and then another. He knew he didn't have the most normal family in the world, but watching his mother smoke like that if it was her only joy in the world was disturbing.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
A/N-I KNOW! Super short chapter. Hey, at least I posted! Wow, 18 days! What the hell have I been doing for 18 days? Hey, I'm going to reply for everybody! I'm just in that good of a mood! WHOO! 10 reviews!  
  
Dark Jaded Rose- I'm glad this helped your depression! ;-) Thanks for your review as always! Want a brownie?  
  
InsaneBunneh- Sure *your* Pyro can live in an abusive house. He has to be insane for some reason or another. Oh, and I made Dave feel really bad because right when he walked in the door today I said, "Happy Birthday, you're now officially old." But he is old isn't he? Double, double, chocolate brownies for you! With chocolate chips! Is your mouth watering yet?  
  
Anon- I like how you put girl next to your penname. It's weird, because unless they say so, I always assume everybody's a female. Unless their name is painfully obvious that they're male. Hope you liked this chapter. Thanks for your review! Want a brownie?  
  
SPoOkZ13412- Yes, I can't wait for the next chapter either. Thanks for your review, here's a brownie.  
  
la cour de belles fleurs- Thanks for your review, here's a brownie!  
  
Shao-Archon- I'll be glad to review your stories! Just keep writing! Thanks for your review and here's a brownie!  
  
The Rogue Witch- ( Yes, cookies are sweet (as in the way you meant it, not the taste), especially my cookies. Yeah, it was pretty low of Steve to hit Chris, but Chris is just a little snot anyways. I love him. As you can guess, the Allerdyce family is pretty dysfunctional. Thanks for your review! Here's a brownie!  
  
I Am The Anonymous Reviewer- Yes, family therapy needed indeed. Thanks for your review, here's a brownie!  
  
zephyr- Thanks for your review! I'm flattered by your compliments! Here's a brownie!  
  
Don't-eat-chunky-pudding- Thanks for your review, here's a brownie!  
  
BROWNIES FOR EVERYONE! And if you can guess where "Smite me, almighty smiter!" comes from, you get a sample of *special* brownies. *looks around nervously* Just don't tell the cops about them. *Ahem* Yeah. . . 


	8. School

Pyro: Nessie6, 'ereby proclaims she owns nothin' of X-men Evolution... Cawn Oy burn it now?"  
  
Me- Yes.  
  
Pyro- Burny, burny, burny! *proceeds to burn down disclaimer and many other things that he did not have permission to burn*  
  
Me- That child needs to be slapped...  
  
Chapter Seven- School  
  
John and Ian walked side-by-side on the dusty road on their way to school. There had been a drought, and the green grass was starting to turn a yellowish-brown. John idly kicked stones, gripping the straps of his backpack tightly. He hated school. What was the point of math and all that stuff? Two plus two, whoopee. Another thing, second grade sucked and the teacher was an evil old hag.  
  
The two of them arrived at the elementary school, and they entered. They made their way down the hall, hung their sweaters on their assigned hooks, and gathered their stuff. Walking into the tiny classroom, they sat down at opposite sides of the room; their assigned seats.  
  
Naomi Harrison, all prissy and snobby walked in, her platinum blonde hair tied into a perfect ponytail, the ends curling. Her hazel eyes spotted John, and she sneered, taking her seat in front of him.  
  
"'Ow ya doin' Naomi Harrison?" he asked her.  
  
She curled her lip at him. "Oy don' wan' ta tawlk ta ya, St. John."  
  
He tapped her on the shoulder and when she turned around irritably he gave her an innocent grin. "'Ow ya doin' Naomi Harrison?"  
  
"If ya don' stop tawlkin' ta me, Oy'm tellin' Mrs. Leud," she sniffed.  
  
"Sure thing, Naomi Harrison," he said and started drumming his fingers on his desk.  
  
"Stop cawlin' me that!" she hissed. He only drummed his fingers louder and said:  
  
"Oy can' do that! Isn't it yoah name?" he said. She merely growled.  
  
"Class!" Mrs. Leud walked up to the front of the room and rapped her meter stick on the table in front of her. The class stopped its talking.  
  
"Today weah gonna do our toimed math sheets," she said briskly and half the kids groaned.  
  
The timed math sheets were when they were timed for five minutes to work on fifty problems. There were levels to this test, and to go to the next one you had to get every one of them right. John still hadn't made it past his first subtraction test.  
  
John groaned when he was handed a sheet of paper. Blast those math problems!  
  
The timer began.  
  
'Noine minus foive is,' John thought, 'foah!'  
  
He hastily scribbled down the answers.  
  
Ding!  
  
John jumped halfway out of his seat. That darn timer always did that to him. He looked back down at his paper. He didn't finish the last five problems.  
  
He looked around and quickly wrote down random numbers. There was a ten percent chance he'd get the answer right anyways.  
  
"Tha's cheatin' St. John," sang Naomi.  
  
"'Ow woz Oy cheatin', Naomi Harrison?" he asked her, raising his eyebrows. She growled.  
  
"St. John Allardoyce!" Mrs. Leud screeched. She really didn't like him at all. Partially it was because she had taught his brother, and automatically didn't like him, and partially because he was a little stinker in classes and disrupted them.  
  
"Wot?" he asked innocently. Better not act smart around her.  
  
She curled her bony finger at him, her brightly colored lips set in a snarl. He swallowed and walked over to her.  
  
She pulled him real close by the ear. Her breath was warm against his ear and it smelled like a real bad coffee. "Oy could fail you, ya know," she threatened.  
  
"Whoy?" he asked.  
  
"Because then you would be unhappy, and Oy would really loike tha'," she hissed.  
  
"But then, if you held me back, you'd have me anothah yeahr," he whispered back, feeling pleased with himself.  
  
She growled and shoved him back. Told you she was an evil old hag.  
  
John walked back to his desk and collapsed in it. They were supposed to read a book while Evil-Old-Hag graded the papers.  
  
She tsked. And then she tsked again, giving John a satisfied glare. He failed again. Splendid.  
  
"St. John, you failed again," she seemed to sing. Great.  
  
John turned beet red, opened his desk, and hid his head. Damn her! Why did she always have to embarrass him all the time? It's not like he wasn't hated enough. He really didn't want Naomi Harrison to hate him, he just liked annoying her so much, and it was fun. She was kind of pretty...for a girl.  
  
It didn't help that some of the kids snickered. Oh, was he ever the popular one. Yeah, he was aware that *some* girls had crushes on him but honestly! How obsessed can one person possibly get? He knew he was irresistible, even at eight, but he was really starting to creep out. Especially from some of the Valentines he had gotten back in February.  
  
And that wasn't the only problem; the girls weren't even popular to begin with. It was girls like Ingrid Holmes that liked him, big-pimply (yes she was pimply at eight) Ingrid Holmes with big plastic glasses that magnified her eyes about one thousand times. He shuddered.  
  
"Ow!" Naomi suddenly cried out, her hand automatically flying to her neck. John looked at her curiously then looked at Ian. Ian winked at him and snickered into his hand, placing a straw back in to his desk. Clever chap.  
  
Naomi swiveled around in her seat as though her life depended on it and shot John a withering glare.  
  
"If ya do tha' again Oy'm tellin'," she snarled in a whisper.  
  
"Wot?" he asked as if he knew nothing about it. He knew Ian was staring at them.  
  
"You know wot ya did," she growled, swiveling back to face the front, clasping her hands in front of her.  
  
Mrs. Leud had been staring at them. Actually, she had been giving Naomi a concerned glance while at the same time giving John a look that suggested she wanted nothing but to strangle the living daylights out of him.  
  
John sighed, opened his desk, pulled out a list and added a name.  
  
Peeple That R My Enemies  
  
Naomi Harrison  
Sally Banks  
Jaclyn Smith  
Donner Kinsby  
Wesley Craig (nosepicker)  
Mrs. Leud  
  
John hid the list again under his reading book.  
  
They did a bunch of other boring stuff like English and spelling (he was horrible at that too) until the lunch bell rang. John bolted out of his seat, grabbed the plastic lunchbox and ran all the way to the tiny cafeteria. He plopped down at the table he usually sat at and ripped the plastic wrapping from his peanut butter sandwich.  
  
"G'day," Ian said as he slid into his seat right next to John. John grunted in reply, his mouth full of bread, peanut butter, and chocolate milk.  
  
Some of John's other friends also came and sat by them. Brad Davis, Henry Cowalt, James Theis, and Greg Ivanolli. They weren't as close to John as Ian was, and John certainly didn't trust them enough to tell them enough secrets, but they were okay.  
  
Lunch was over and right after they had social studies with Mrs. Evil-Old- Hag she would lead them down the hall in a single line to the art room. John wasn't really that good at art either, but that doesn't mean he knew that. In fact, he thought he was awesome and his favorite animal to draw was a hippo. Usually they ended up looking like some weird demented peanut thing with googly-eyes and buckteeth. But to John, it was a masterpiece.  
  
John sat down at his assigned art table with four other people that he hated: Naomi Harrison, her best friend Sally Banks, and their other friends Josephine Kline and Jaclyn Smith. Josephine had frizzy bright orange hair, with a few freckles scattered across her nose, but she had a pretty face, and she was surprisingly popular so she didn't count. Jaclyn was dark and tan, and maybe a little chunky but she took the role as bodyguard of the little group. Sally Banks had chestnut brown hair and gray eyes and also a pretty face, but that didn't make her nicer.  
  
How on Earth John got stuck with four girls, he had no clue and he didn't think it was really fair. Well, it probably was because he dumped a whole bucket (it wasn't even that big! maybe a pint or so) of paint on Naomi Harrison's head. She deserved it. So then it was his fate that he had been moved from the table where Ian and Michael Kolts sat and to the table where Miss Prissy and Her royal subjects were.  
  
"Ew, St. John wot in tha world is that?" Naomi pointed at his hippo in disgust.  
  
"Snot." He muttered.  
  
"Yoah drawin' snot? Eeww yoah so gross!" she scrunched up her face in disgust. Her royal subjects imitated.  
  
"No," he hissed, "It's a hippo. But wotch out foah Wesley Craig, 'e's a nose-pickah."  
  
"Eeewww!" All the girls moaned in synchronization.  
  
"Yeah, you better 'ew,'" John muttered to himself so quietly nobody heard him.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
John walked into his house and threw his backpack on to the floor. Irene skipped into the living room wearing a bright pink bathing suit with little yellow wavy things at the side by her hips. Her strawberry blonde hair was tied into curly pigtails, her thin bangs lying against her forehead; her light green eyes were sparkly.  
  
"Look Johnny! Look wot Oy got!" she screeched excitedly at him, pulling the front of her bathing suit out.  
  
"Stawp that!" he cried when she pulled it out too far and he could see her three year old chest. It really shouldn't be a big deal, since she's only three, but John's eight so it's understandable what his reaction would be.  
  
She giggled and skipped back into the kitchen.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Ah HA! Five pages, 1,650 words...Take THAT temporary writer's block! Okay, I noticed that I never wrote little old Johnny at school, and I was deeply surprised by that so I put it here. If you could figure out in this chapter what's a foreshadow to an event you get a dollar and a nickel. Sorry, I'm cheap.  
  
InsaneBunneh- YES I know about special brownies. Should you really be surprised?  
  
Dark Jaded Rose- Oooh! This is on your favorites? Yay! Thankyou so much! Thanks for your review!  
  
Anon (girl)- Here's an update. Like this one? Well, you should get cleaning on your room then if you want an account. I'd read your stories. Glad Fishy likes this too. Thanks for your review!  
  
Don't-eat-chunky-pudding- You could have asked for nuts...Well I'm glad chibi Gambit's not starving at least. *pats chibi Gambit on the head*  
  
The Rogue Witch- Yep, I agree about Jim Carrey not being his best in that movie. Personally, I love Dumb and Dumber, Liar Liar, and Ace Ventura. Especially in when Ace Ventura- When Nature Calls, and he comes out of the mechanical rhino's butt. That was priceless. Thanks for your review!  
  
Also thanks for reviewing- I Am The Anonymous Reviewer, Shadow-Spider, AGST, Eh!, la cour de belles fleurs, sPoOkZ13412, zephyr, rosie, Pauline L., Wind Rider 2000.  
  
Congratulations to The Rogue Witch, who got where "Smite Me, Almighty Smiter," comes from! It was from Bruce Almighty. Here's your batch of special brownies! Special ingredient...er...um...looove. *Ahem*  
  
Dollars to all who review! We got 16 last chapter, how about 20 this time?  
  
Like it? Hate it? Either way, review! 


	9. Beach

Disclaimer- I OWN ALL!!! BWAHAHAHAHA!!!  
  
*Ahem*  
  
Summary- St. John Allerdyce always had a fascination with fire. My story on Pyro's life before Magneto.  
  
"Don't fret, mate, be out in five."  
  
-Pyro, Under Lock and Key (at least, i think so)  
  
Author's Note- Be warned, chapter contains drama.  
  
Chapter Eight- Beach  
  
Yes, John was extraordinarily happy. He had graduated second grade (thank God, his parents were starting to get a little worried about him) and today they were going to the beach.  
  
Chris was allowed to bring Mick along, since Mick went everywhere Chris went, being the *greatest* of friends. Chris was wearing black swimming trunks and a white tank top with nice manly sandals. Mick was also wearing black swimming trunks, except he had a white stripe on the sides, and was also wearing manly sandals. He was wearing what once used to be a gray t- shirt, which had the sleeves cut off, and a few grease stains from God- knows-where (presumably cars, since Mick's dad is a mechanic, and Mick likes to work on cars).  
  
It was about a three-hour drive to the beach, and unfortunately for John, he had no one to spend the boring trip with except his family. Ian had been grounded for breaking some expensive vase thing like that- John didn't really think it was important. What was important was that he was spending three long hours on a car ride with his lunatic family, and a sister who liked talking ALL THE TIME. Currently, she was dressed in her little hot pink bathing suit, with little yellow fin-thingamabobs at around where her waist was. (You guys could picture it right?). Her strawberry-blonde hair fell in little curls around her little round face, and her pale green eyes were alight with excitement. Who to think, she, a three year old, was allowed to go on the beach?! (At least to her three-year old mind, because obviously, there are plenty of three-year olds at beaches.)  
  
And so went the three-hour drive. Everybody slept, except Irene and Sue and Steve. Irene just kept talking silly nonsense to herself happily the whole way, and poking John from her car seat. And each time she poked him, he swatted her hand away as if it was a fly.  
  
*~Three Hours Later~*  
  
"We're here," Sue said as they pulled into the parking lot close to the beach. She turned around in her seat and prodded John's knee. He yawned, stretched and looked around drowsily.  
  
Chris groaned, throwing himself against the car door as he opened it, toppling out and falling onto the hot pavement as he did so. Mick followed suit, stepping on Chris as he crawled out, followed closely by John.  
  
"Beach, beach, beach, beach," Irene murmured to herself, examining her fingers as Sue unstrapped her from her car seat.  
  
"My legs! The feelin's back in my legs!" Mick groaned as he rolled over onto his back on the pavement, spreading his arms out as if to absorb the sun.  
  
"Oy'm paralyzed. Oy can' walk anymore..." Chris rasped, still in the same spot he had been.  
  
John had taken himself to running around as fast as he could around the parking lot, dodging moving cars, and jumping on top of the hoods.  
  
"John, git ovah here!" Sue called out to him, coming out from inside of the car and putting a backpack over one shoulder with Irene straddled on her left hip.  
  
John hopped off the hood of an old Volvo, and skipped his way back to their rundown car. He promptly jumped on top of their hood, and sat there humming to himself, looking around the beach.  
  
Seagulls cried as they flew over there heads, and over the endless water. People were sunbathing, playing beach volleyball, swimming, eating, just about anything you can do at a beach.  
  
He looked behind him at his family and decided he needed to run around a bit more; his legs were still numb. Hopping off the hood, he began to run in zigzags, jumping on the hoods of other cars again.  
  
"Mum! This car's bouncy ovah here!" He called out, shaking the car. A spider crawled a few feet away, and he balled his hand up into a fist and smashed the living daylights out of it. Guts and puss and spider legs stuck to his hand, the legs that were still on the car twitching a little bit.  
  
Sue looked up as John called her, gave an exasperated sigh and told him to get over there now or she'd have to punish him. He slid off the hood, began to walk but halted abruptly, a great idea forming in his mind. He laid down on the hot pavement, some pebbles making indents into his skin. Crossing his arms across his chest, he began to roll. It was probably the honking horns and the yelling that enticed Sue's attention, and Chris ran over and yanked him up, dragging him over back to their car, giving an apologetic wave to the other people in the parking lot as he headed back.  
  
"Wot were ya thinkin'?" Chris asked, grabbing a fistful of John's yellow- blonde hair and yanking it side to side in a playful manner.  
  
"Oy thought it'd be fun," John shrugged, skipping ahead as Chris let go of the yellow locks.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Sue set up a large beach towel on the scorching sand while her husband set a cooler and another towel down next to it. Chris set up the large umbrella they had taken with them from their patio table, and then walked off to 'score' some babes with Mick.  
  
"John, wotch your sistah," Sue told John as Steve walked away. "Your father and Oy need ta git somethin' from a store. Don' let 'er out of your sight, ya hear?" John nodded.  
  
As she disappeared from John's sight, he turned around and stared at the excited three-year old.  
  
"Oy'm gonna go closer to the shore where the sand's wetter so Oy can make sand castles. Don' you go anywheah!" he warned her and walked off about ten feet to where the sand was wet. Every now and then he looked up at her, and she was sitting there, piling sand on the towels. Taking one of the plastic pails that he had grabbed, he filled it up with the wet sand and some water and trudged back up there, pouring the sand on the towels.  
  
"Oy can awlways blame you," he told her with a wink; except it wasn't really a wink because he hadn't mastered the art of closing one eye at a time yet. So his face was just scrunched up for a second.  
  
She giggled anyways, taking a little yellow shovel and started digging holes between the two towels.  
  
"Reenie, do ya hear me? Don' move from this spot here, okay?" John said, and Irene looked up at him with sparkling pale green eyes that she had inherited from their father. She just giggled and blew him a kiss, then went back to digging deeper in the sand.  
  
"If you need me, Oy'll be ovah there," he told her, pointing to the shore. She started to hum.  
  
Running back to the shore and leaving tiny imprints of his feet in the sand, John stopped just where the sand started to feel squishy between his toes. It felt so good.  
  
He plopped down onto his bottom and started filling up the pail with sand. After making a few towers, he began digging a trench with his hands. After digging the trench, he got up and waded into the water, scooping some of the water up and then went back to his castle and filled up the trench. He looked up to check on Irene again. She was now piling more sand on to one of the towels.  
  
A good-looking man in his late thirties with blonde hair walked past and smiled at John. John smiled back and turned around back to the ocean and started collecting seashells in his red pail.  
  
It must have been ten minutes later when John heard his mother.  
  
"John!" He looked back at her and smiled, holding the pail up.  
  
"Oy've got sea shells!" he called out happily and then pointed to his sandcastle. "See wot Oy made?"  
  
Sue ran up to him, her black bathing suit making her sallow skin look pale. Her face looked frantic.  
  
"Wot?" John asked, looking puzzled.  
  
"John, where's your sistah?" she asked.  
  
John gave her a puzzled look. Without looking, he pointed to where their things were set up. "She's ovah there, piling sand on the towels," he exclaimed, then added quickly, "Oy didn' help."  
  
Sue gripped both sides of John's face. "No. No, she's not, John. Where is she?"  
  
John looked past her and at their spot. His eyes widened.  
  
"Oy didn't do it! Oy swear Oy was watchin' 'er! Oy told her not ta go anywhere! She must 'ave been lookin' for ya! Oy was watchin' 'er!" he spoke frantically, as if he thought that if he spoke too slowly he would be hit.  
  
Sue straightened up and started looking around and calling Irene. John looked around too, and saw his father staring at him. He also spotted Chris and Mick flicking their cigarettes into the water, jogging to them when they saw that Chris's parents was back. They slowed down when they realized that Sue was calling for Irene and asking people if they had seen her daughter.  
  
John ran up to his father, and gripped his trunks. "Oy swear, Oy was watching her!" he pleaded him to believe him.  
  
Steve just looked down at him, put his hand on top of his head, and then walked away as if in a daze.  
  
John did not realize until he saw his father blur, that he had started to cry.  
  
"John!" he heard Chris drop down to his knees in front of him and grip his shoulders.  
  
"Sinjin, wot happened? Woy are they callin' for Reenie? Wot happened?" he asked, his voice trembling and panicky.  
  
"Oy swear Oy was watchin' her! She wasn' suppose to go anywhere! Oy was watchin' her! Wot happened? Woy isn' she there?" he spoke almost incoherently as more tears leaked out of his eyes. Oh, this was his entire fault.  
  
And then Chris shocked him as he drew John in close, and then lifted him off the ground and began carrying him around as if he was a toddler himself, clutching to him as if John would get lost too. Then, he too, began calling for Irene.  
  
Soon, Mick's voice joined in.  
  
Chris had not put down John the whole time.  
  
"Are you calling for me?" an old lady said with a strange accent.  
  
Chris shook his head, "No, my sistah. She's about three, strawberry blonde hair, green eyes, pink bathing suit. Have ya seen 'er?"  
  
The old lady slowly shook her head, looking sympathetic. "I'll keep a watch out for her, and tell my family to do so also."  
  
Chris nodded his thanks and began searching again.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Ah! Don't throw tomatoes at me! *Dodges food* I was a little worried about this chapter, but I want to see what your reactions will be. I'm going to say though that I planned all the major stuff in this story, and I'm not going to change it. I'm sorry!  
  
Also apologize for the lateness of this chapter. Whoo-ee, it's been nearly a month! I wrote four and a half pages in forty minutes while the first ten paragraphs took me weeks.  
  
I'm not going to do any shout-outs, because its 12:45 am, and I'm tired. Actually, I'm not because I slept all day, but I'm kind of sneaking on here, so I have to get off soon. But thanks to all of those who reviewed anyways! Let's go for 20 reviews for this chapter! Come on, tell me what you think!  
  
Like it? Hate it? Either way, review! 


	10. Nothing

Disclaimer- I own none within. Actually, I own everybody but John and his powers.  
  
Author's Note- You may have noticed I'm not using the accent nearly as much. It's easier and faster to write this way, and I found it kind of better to read too.  
  
Chapter Nine- Nothing  
  
"But, but," Susan stuttered. "You-you haven' found anything?"  
  
The man shook his head sadly. He rubbed a finger over his thin, black mustache that matched perfectly with his neatly parted black hair. "No, I'm sorry ma'am."  
  
"Nothing?" Steve asked, still not believing the formal man in front of him.  
  
"Nothing, sir," the man repeated.  
  
"But, Mr. Robinson, you, how can you, how can you not 'ave found anything?" Susan asked desperately.  
  
"Sometimes, these things take time." Mr. Robinson stated, absentmindedly brushing the shoulder of his crisp, black pinstriped suit.  
  
In the corner of the office, Chris and John sat on the black leather couch. Chris wrapped his arm tightly around John's shoulders, showing his younger brother affection that he rarely did. Under the circumstances, some things change.  
  
Susan sighed. She paused for a moment, silent as the grave, and then slowly turned towards her two sons. John licked his dry lips nervously. It was his entire fault.  
  
"Chris, John," she said, her voice a little bit croaky, "Please go wait out in the waitin' room. Go wait out with Mick. They must feel awkward."  
  
"But Mum!" Chris exclaimed, and instinctively his arm around John tightened, and John became mildly alarmed.  
  
"Go now," she said firmly, pointing a bony and sallow finger towards the door. Slowly and very reluctantly, both of them rose in synchronize, and walked shakily out the door.  
  
Mick rose immediately once they saw them both enter.  
  
"Is everythin' awlright?" Mick asked, looking worriedly at the both of them, "Did they foind anythin'?"  
  
John shook his head and collapsed in a much harder and more uncomfortable chair.  
  
"No," Chris sighed, and he began to blink rapidly. Mick, feeling very sorry for his best friend that was more like a brother to him, walked right up to him and embraced him. Losing all composure, Chris broke down and cried in his friend's shoulder.  
  
John sat nearby, his hands folded together between his knees. His head bowed, John stared at the floor, thinking about everything that had happened at the beach. Who would have taken Irene? If she wasn't kidnapped, did she run away? And why?  
  
There were people near the spot where she had left her. An old couple, a young couple, a couple with their toddler son. No one that seemed suspicious to John. She wouldn't have ran away, he had told her to stay right where she was and if she needed anything he showed her where he would be so she could tell him what she wanted.  
  
It didn't make any sense.  
  
Who had walked by? Perhaps it would have been a person who just walked by casually, picked his three-year old sister up, and walked off with her? John didn't remember anybody; he had his back facing her. He had been busy collecting seashells and building his sand castle.  
  
When he checked on her that one time he remembered seeing out of the corner of his eye a pair of overweight middle-aged women, but he didn't see them as a threat. There had also been that nice blonde man that smiled at him. John didn't see where he had gone, but it didn't other him until now.  
  
They had no idea what happened, and now the only thing to do was wait.  
  
Letting out a moan, John rubbed his face with his hands and rested his elbows on top of his knees, suddenly exhausted.  
  
Time couldn't have gone any slower.  
  
It was nearly two hours later when both of John's parents exited the office and silently walked over to them. Without a word, they started to leave the building, both Chris and John with all sorts of questions floating around in their minds.  
  
They crowded themselves into their car. Mick silently un-strapped Irene's car seat from the back and put it into the trunk so they could have more room in the back.  
  
And then they rode back home, with one less passenger in their car than they came with. Finally, after being unable to take any more of the tense silence, John spoke up.  
  
"So...what are we gonna do now?"  
  
Susan immediately lit up a cigarette, her hands shaking violently. She hugged herself, rubbing the sallow skin of her arms as if she were freezing. She let out a shaky breath.  
  
"We wait."  
  
"Are," John said hesitantly, "are they going ta be lookin' for her? Like, flyers and stuff?"  
  
"Yes," her reply came out harsh. John immediately quieted, not wanting to be on his mother's bad side. He had a feeling that he was already in enough trouble.  
  
Hours later, they pulled into their driveway. Night had already fallen; a few stars peeked out from the clouds that had covered them like a thick blanket. The clouds covered the half moon too, and John idly thought that the sky must have been suffocating from all of the clouds that covered its beauty.  
  
Without saying a word, John helped carry the towels inside the house, setting them down into the filled laundry hamper. He then went into his room, not bothering to turn on the light. Leaving the door open ajar, he started to undress out of his swimming clothes and into his sleeping ones. Padding silently across the worn carpet, he opened the window, letting the cool night breeze in. He sighed, walking to his bed and collapsing on to the covers, his limbs spread out. For what seemed like hours later, he finally drifted off into a light sleep.  
  
John woke up to the sounds of twittering birds and the brightness of the sun in his eyes. He opened his eyes drowsily but immediately screwed them shut again, because the sun was blinding. He sat up, and rubbed his eyes with his fists wearily and then finally opened them. Sliding out of bed he walked over to the window, looking out at his neighborhood. The birds were still madly chirping, and John thought that they sounded happy, but he knew there was nothing to be happy about at all.  
  
Dressing up haphazardly he jumped down the stairs two at a time and went into the kitchen. Pouring himself a bowl of cereal and milk, he began to eat. Mick and Chris ate silently with him. After they finished, Mick stood up, said that he had to be home, and left the house.  
  
The phone rang, and both Chris and John jumped. Susan ran into the kitchen and picked up the phone at once.  
  
"Hello? Hello?" she gasped frantically, clutching the cord between her fingers. Her face was etched with disappointment. Slowly she hung up.  
  
"Nothing." She whispered, tightening the tie that held her robe closed. She walked out in a daze out of the kitchen.  
  
John opened the refrigerator to put the milk away and found that there were less beer bottles in there than there had been before. Silently, he set the jug in there and closed the door, pretending that he hadn't noticed anything.  
  
(END CHAPTER)  
  
Okay, really short, and probably not as good, but I NEEDED to get this chapter out. I mean, it's been three months and a week. Isn't that crazy?! Next time I do that, slap me. This chapter was just to get the story going.  
  
childrenwithblades- You reviewed this chapter with your old account. And you guessed the guy right. Thanks for your review!  
  
Insanebunneh- No, not the wombaturgalur. Aren't you proud I finally got this chapter out? Go me!  
  
Dont-eat-chunky-pudding- You're right, it wasn't my greatest. I'm glad to hear it didn't suck though. Thanks.  
  
Anon(girl)- He was only watching a three-year old for about twenty minutes or something. But yeah, he's still too young. Thanks for reviewing!  
  
AriKitten- No, I don't think they'll ever find her. Sad, isn't it? Thanks for reviewing. And CONGRATULATIONS! You are the 100th reviewer! (throws confetti around)  
  
Starbryte234- I agree with you, there should be more about John on the web. I'm making the speech easier to read, meaning not as much stuff with the 'accent'. Like, less 'Oy's' and stuff. But there wasn't much dialogue in here, and I'm going to try to do that with the next chapters too. Thanks for your review!  
  
Also thanks to- I Am The Anonymous Reviewer, Shadow-Spider, zephyr, Rena Lupin, la cour de belles fleurs, Wind Rider 2000, spookz13412, and Pauline L.  
  
Like it? Hate it? Either way, review! 


	11. Unwanted Attention

Disclaimer- If I owned X-Men: Evolution I'd have Pyro running around naked wielding his fire.

Chapter Ten- Unwanted Attention

Three months had passed since the beach. There had been few phone calls, but all of them didn't have anything new. It had always been the same. They found nothing.

John walked down the empty hallway of his school, his backpack slung over his shoulder. He was a half an hour late so nearly everybody was already in their classes. John sighed. Mr. Jett wasn't going to be happy with him.

Mr. Jett was his third grade teacher. He was tall, middle-aged, and very grumpy. He seemed to have disliked John the moment he set foot into his classroom. John had wondered why at first as Mr. Jett was increasingly unfair to him but he figured it was probably because he had hated Chris when he taught him in sixth grade. The teacher probably thought it would be easier to handle nine-year olds instead of twelve-year olds.

Ha, yeah right.

"St. John!" somebody girly said breathlessly behind him. He turned around just to see Naomi exit the girls' bathroom.

"Wot?" he grumbled, not in the mood to talk to anyone at the moment. Especially her.

"Oy just wanted to say that Oy'm sorry 'bout your sister," she said, for once being pleasant to him. John made a face and turned around again, hitching his thumbs under the straps of his backpack.

"Shove off," he barked with his back facing her. He heard her growl and stomp on the ground in a tantrum. He smirked. John loved getting Naomi Harrison annoyed.

"Jerk!" he heard her call at his back as he continued to walk down the hall and towards his classroom.

Hanging his backpack on his hook outside of the classroom door, John took a deep breath before entering. He tried to as silently as possible, but Mr. Jett was expecting something like that when John had not turned up but was not called in absent in the office.

"Allerdyce!" Jett barked and John jumped a foot in the air.

"You're late!" Jett snarled, grabbing John roughly by the shoulder and steering him towards the chalkboard in the front.

"I want that board filled with 'I must not be late for Mr. Jett's class again.' Got it?" Jett jabbed a finger at John's chest. John nodded vehemently.

Grabbing a piece of chalk on the ledge, John began to write on the board. He threw a disgruntled look at Ian, who sat in the front row. Ian shrugged and shook his head.

Mr. Jett's dull voice filled his ears and he wrote the same sentence over and over and over again. He tried to listen and remember all the details but he couldn't. He wondered if Mr. Jett was doing this on purpose so John would fail the third grade.

Wait...no; Mr. Jett should be practically giving the answers to John. He wouldn't want him for another year. Or maybe he just enjoyed torturing him.

Probably the latter.

He felt the stares that he was receiving on the back of his neck, but he tried to ignore them. Something hit him behind the ear. Something that was suspiciously wet. Reaching to see whatever it was, he discovered it had been a spitball. He made a soft growl in the back of his throat and glanced behind him to try to figure out whom it was.

Marlin Dobson was giggling in the middle row with a bunch of his friends. He was going to really hurt that kid someday.

"Get back to writing, Allerdyce," Jett's harsh voice cut into his thoughts. John sighed again and continued to write for the better part of the day.

. . . . . . . . . . .

John banged the door open and threw his backpack across the living room.

He hated school. And he hated Mr. Jett. He wanted to kill him.

And he hated that jerk Marlin Dobson, also known as Mr. Popular. He wanted to pound his pretty face so hard it would appear in the back of his head.

Was that even possible? John thought. He nodded. Yes, he decided it was if he tried hard enough.

"Wot the hell are you so cheerful about?" Chris snarled. He was sprawled on the couch, smoking a cigarette and drinking one of their parents' beers. John had failed to notice his presence when he entered.

"Oy really, really, really, hate that Jett!" John pounded his fist into his hand, walking over to sit on the couch by Chris's feet. He wasn't looking, since he landed right on top of them. Chris grimaced slightly and yanked them out from under John.

Chris blew smoke at the ceiling. He sighed and looked at his little brother. "Want me to kill him?" he asked seriously. John stared at him for a moment, wondering if he was joking or not. He shook his head no just in case.

Chris shrugged lazily and took a sip of the beer in his hand. John's brow furrowed and he frowned.

"Guess Mum and Dad aren't home?" he asked casually as he stared at the beverage.

Chris rolled his eyes. "Noo," he said sarcastically, "I drink beer all the time when they're home. 'Course they're not here, dumbass."

"Well can I have some then?" John asked reaching out his hand.

Chris kicked it away and snorted. "No, you're too young."

"Well so are you!" John argued, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Not as young as you," Chris said nonchalantly and took another swig.

John punched Chris in the shin. Chris just kicked him right back.

"Go, I don't want your attention right now, brat," Chris said, putting out his cigarette on the ashtray lying on the floor beside the couch.

. . . . . . . .

Wow, the chapters just keep getting shorter and shorter, don't they? And I've written it three months later cause I really need to get this story moving.

Xxpyroxx- We don't know if John has siblings. I just made these ones up. Thanks for reviewing!

Dragon- Nope, Irene isn't Rogue. Thanks for your review!

Also thanks for reviewing- AriKitten, childrenwithblades, xmengirlzrule, Anon(girl), Lieutenant Lindsey, Insanebunneh, starbryte234, crazy4horses, Shadow-Spider, and pyros-gal!

Like it? Hate it? Either way, review!


	12. On My Tenth Birthday

_To all Harry Potter fans: I was thinking of writing this one-shot, but I want some people's opinions if they think it sounds like it would be good or not. I would write it anyways, but I would still like to know. Here's the summary:_

_Not even twenty years old, Regulus Black is murdered on Voldemort's orders. What did the Dark Lord tell him to do that made the younger Black want to leave the Death Eaters, and in the end, cost him his life?_

_Anyways, sorry for the late update._

_Disclaimer- Do. Not. Own. Well...actually I own everything so far 'cept for John._

Chapter Eleven- On My Tenth Birthday

John moaned, rolling over in his bed. His head was in excruciating pain; it was throbbing ceaselessly. He rubbed his eyes wearily and made to sit up, but fell back down with a whimper. Screwing his eyes shut, he pulled the blanket and sheet over his head to block out the sun seeping through the little cracks in the blinds.

To make his morning worse, the door banged open, like a gunshot, and someone walked loudly in (and it seemed unnecessarily loud to John, too) and pulled the blinds up, letting the bright sun stream in. Dust particles were now visible in the light and John put his head under his pillow.

The blanket and sheets were yanked down off of his body all the way to the foot of the bed, the pillow was thrown across the room, and someone shook John vigorously.

"Wake up baby brother," Chris said, sounding unusually happy. "Birthday boys can't sleep in! In other words, Mum wants your ass downstairs in the kitchen now so she can stuff your face with burnt waffles."

John groaned loudly. His face in his bed, he gave a muffled reply.

Chris's face screwed up in annoyance. "What?"

"I got a headache," John repeated down an' have somethin' ta eat, alright? Then have an' aspirin or somethin'." Chris said, now sounding uncharacteristically nice. He helped John sit up, rubbing his neck for a bit.

"Little better? No? Too bad," Chris stood up, making his way across the cluttered floor to the door.

"You stink," John said, stumbling out of his bed. "Like cigarettes, 'cept worse."

"I've been smokin'," came the nonchalant reply.

Not thinking straight at the moment, and distracted by his tortuous headache, John hadn't paid the slightest attention to his brother's reply.

His eyes were still squinting by the time he had entered the kitchen. On the table was a plate of four waffles stacked together, some with black edges and some with a dark brown.

He plopped heavily into his seat. Besides his large glass of milk was one large aspirin. He popped it into his mouth, took a large gulp of milk, and almost choked and spit it out from taking too much in one mouthful.

Reaching halfway across the table and knocking the saltshaker down, John grabbed the almost empty bottle of syrup and began to pour it on his waffles. There was barely enough for two waffles, and John liked his waffles sopping wet with syrup and butter.

His mother came into the kitchen then, very pale and sick looking. Her t-shirt hung on her loose and dirty, and the knees of her light blue jeans were stained with green and brown like she had not been taking care of her clothes properly. Her hair was in a low, unkempt ponytail She gave him a small smile, walked over and smoothed back his yellow-blonde hair, kissing his forehead fondly. She had detached herself from the others ever since Irene disappeared, but on special occasions she tried to be social.

"G'day love," she murmured in a low voice, her hand still resting on his head. "How's if feel ta be ten years old now? That's a two-digit number, you know."

John felt irritated with his mother. Of course he knew ten was a two-digit number, he _could _count; he wasn't completely stupid.

But he could not bring himself to snap at her. After all it had been _his _fault. Oh, she had said that she didn't blame him, but deep down John knew that she had and it hurt all the same.

"It hurts," John said, referring to the question she had asked. She raised questioning eyebrows.

"How does it hurt to be ten?" she asked.

"I got a bloody headache that's how it hurts," he finally snapped, stabbing his fork in one of the over-cooked waffles.

She looked baffled and confused for a moment, but her expression quickly went blank. She petted his head one last time and exited the kitchen silently. John let out a quick sigh as he stuffed a rather large piece into his mouth.

"Don' go snappin' at your mother like that," said a deep voice from the doorway. John turned to face his father. "It's not her fault you have a headache."

John did not say anything, but he stabbed at his last waffle rather more viciously than necessary.

He felt his father's presence right behind him, and his heavy hands made their way to his small shoulders. John instantly tensed, ready to go into defensive at a moment's notice. His father's breath reeked of alcohol, which was not unusual in itself but it sent warning bells off in John's head.

"Happy Birthday," he growled, giving his shoulders a rather tight squeeze before walking out the screen door and into the back in to the blinding sun.

John relaxed the moment the screen door was shut. _Sometimes I wish they both would just go away. Mum and Dad. They're not like they used to be. They're different, and I don't like it. _John thought. _I wish they would just leave me and Chris alone and we can get on with our lives without them two constantly bickering at each other._

He abruptly shot up from his seat and towards the phone, leaving the rest of his food behind on the table to get cold.

He dialed Ian's number. "Would you come over? I need someone else here besides my crazy family. An' could you have Joe, Craig, an' Steve come by too? Cause it'd be more excitin' on my birthday if there were more people. Thanks. Bye."

Joe, Craig, and Steve were three boys that John had met at the park with Ian the summer before fourth grade. They had all become good friends and had recently been hanging out by the creeks and the playgrounds together.

Joe was a short, scrawny little thing with bucked teeth but a great personality. He made the others laugh hysterically at his jokes and he had a habit of getting in trouble but could easily slip out of it by saying something remarkably witty for his age.

Craig was good looking (by ten year old standards). He was not exactly tall or short, but although he was still young, he was a bit more broad-shouldered than the others and more athletic. He was quiet, and had developed a dry, sarcastic humor from his older brother over the summer that always left the other boys confused but laughing anyways.

Steve was incredibly freckly. He was _covered _in them, and from far away he could be mistaken for being tan. He had brown hair, the same shade as his freckles and light, hazel eyes. He was a bit on the pudgy side, and he was loud and obnoxious around teenagers and children but sneaky around adults and could tend to be a bit of a bully to the younger kids. He was great to hang around with though.

Deciding to wait for the quartet upstairs, John skipped up the steps lightly and barged his way into Chris's room. Chris kneeled at the small table in his room, his back facing the door. He didn't seem to notice that John had entered but then he said, "What do you want?"

"I'm just waitin' for Ian to come." John said, shrugging. He walked over and around the table to sit opposite of Chris. "What're you doin'?"

"Makin' a bomb so I can set it off in your room," Chris replied viciously, but then answered. "I'm makin' smokes."

"They look funny," John said as he watched Chris finish wrapping one and stick it in his mouth, lighting it up. The flame entranced John for a moment until it just as quickly disappeared, bringing John back to the present. "It stinks worse too."

"Shut it." Chris snapped. "Go check if they're here, I heard somethin'."

John left, closing the door behind him when Chris called back and ordered him too.

"Happy Birthday," the four chorused to him as he met them in his living room downstairs. John smiled a little.

"Thanks," he said. From somewhere else in the house, screaming between a man and a woman ensued.

"Let's go outside," John said quickly, not wanting his new friends to witness or hear the fight that was ensuing between his parents.

They looked at the source of where it had come from for a moment curiously before nodding and following John out the front door.

* * *

Thanks to all who reviewed! I don't know what I'd do without you! Oh and those of you who read 'Drastic Changes' the rating has been upped to 'R' for language. It too, has been updated.

Like it? Hate it? Either way, review!


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